


Destroying Something Beautiful

by FishPrincess



Series: HSWC 2014 Bonus Round 3 [2]
Category: Fight Club - All Media Types, Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Emotional Manipulation, Mild Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishPrincess/pseuds/FishPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fight Club AU where AR is Tyler Durden and Dirk is the narrator (Edward Norton). For HSWC Bonus Round 3. A response to a prompt by mevious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destroying Something Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mevious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevious/gifts).



Tonight is the only night of the week you feel truly alive.

It’s the only night in which you feel anything at all. Your life is a dull routine, void of any kind of pleasure. Every day is a drag colored in a painfully dull gray through your obscure sunglasses. You, Dirk Strider, are a master at faking it. The truth lies in your nights alone, when you watch infomercials for hours on end because the ability to sleep has been taken from you. You live for white noise, for casual Fridays and lunch breaks and the days you don’t have to attend jury duty. Your entire life is worth nothing at all, and ever since the fire burned down your apartment, you are seeing the world through new lenses.

The adrenaline is so potent that it burns, the nervous energy destroying the contents of your stomach as you descend down the stairs. The air is thick with excitement for uninhibited, natural expression. This is what you were evolved to do – that is, if there was ever such a thing as a plan or a greater purpose.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see a group of men surround your partner with a sense of reverence and respect, even as he lights a cigarette in silence. The group has doubled in size since the week prior.

Fight Club is your freedom, your resolution, your middle finger to the corporate and consumer world you live in. You split ownership of Fight Club with Hal, but he does the talking. He is much more passionate than you could ever be with a standard of suaveness you could only hope to reach. When the others see you fight, they chant for you. No one looks at you when you enter the room, but no one needs to.

This is your resurrection.

You go to take your place next to Hal, but before you can reach him, one of the recent newcomers jogs toward him, shirt already off in eager preparation. Hal cracks a twisted smile and pats his cheek. You first saw this kid during your solo lunch breaks at Hometown Buffet. He caught your eye with his dopey smile and dark hair, and he drew you in with his celestial blue eyes that hid under unfashionable square glasses. When he cleaned your table, he leaned over just enough so that you could see his name tag read Jake.

A part of you burns with the desire to reveal him for who he really is, but no one has a name here. No one has a life outside of Fight Club. You are all only numbers, statistics, easily wasted and replaced. You are breathing, eating, sleeping, and fucking digits fueled with testosterone and rage. You are raised by women, disowned by your fathers, and hated by God.

And you are all worthless pieces of shit.

When you hit rock bottom, there is nowhere to go but up.

Your eyes narrow when Hal presses his lips to Jake’s forehead, an intense and uncomfortable jealousy rising within you. Pretty Boy’s eyes light up when he removes his glasses and shoves them inside his boots on the floor. This is not his first time, but he has volunteered to go first. His eagerness makes Hal laugh like a maniac, but it makes you fume. Outside of the ring, you won’t let anyone know your unease.

With a booming voice, Hal shouts over the silenced crowd.

“The first rule of fight club is you do not talk about fight club.” His face grows stern, and the tension rises. “The second rule of fight club is you do not talk about fight club.”

When Hal finishes with the rules, the battle cry is deafening. You volunteer to take on Jake, and he smiles at you like he did at the restaurant. You take off your shirt and sunglasses, coolly making your way inside the makeshift ring. The boundaries belong to the bodies of the crowd. His chest is firm and thin, much like your own. Fight Club beats going to the gym.

His excitement bothers you, and you know you have to teach him how this goes. No one gets off easy, and not with you, either. When the fight starts, he gets a few swings in, and the crowd screams passionately. Fuck him up! Show him! Kick his ass! You have learned to tune them out for the most part, although they push against each other like feral beasts clawing for the last piece of meat.

Jake hooks you in the jaw, hard enough to knock out a tooth. He’s strong, but not strong like you. He has to learn like you did, he has to hit rock bottom. You knee him in the gut and he keels over long enough for you to take a swing. Your fist stings and throbs as you continue to punch his pretty little face, socking him so hard and so often that he doesn’t have a chance to spit out his lost teeth.

Spit and blood flies out of his mouth and onto you, his nose bleeding profusely as his blood drenches your hands. You can hear him whimper under his breath, and you use his weakness to knock him down. You straddle his waist, pinning him to the concrete floor.

The crowd goes silent so all you can hear is the cracking of his jaw and your grunts and your hits echoing throughout the basement. His face is swollen to a pulp, but you keep going even when your knuckles burn. You know what’s best for him, you know what Hal told you to be true. You came to these conclusions together. You and him -- you are basically the same person.

When you notice Jake is unconscious, your chest heaves with heavy breaths, the sweat from your scalp dripping down your face and mixing with Jake’s sticky blood all over you. You turn to look at Hal, and his expression is solemn, sober. There is no victory here; there is never a victory. There is a sense of pride within you – you are a teacher, a giver. And you have given this naïve and pretty boy the gift of hitting rock bottom.

The next time you see Jake, you don’t recognize him at first. His right eye is swollen over, and he no longer smiles. He has become a deformity.

Whenever you see him, you feel a sense of pride in having destroyed something beautiful.


End file.
